


Ssh

by battle_cat



Series: Together [43]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Car Sex, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 03:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12312585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battle_cat/pseuds/battle_cat
Summary: They've been teasing each other all afternoon.





	Ssh

**Author's Note:**

> Based on YoukaiYume's [smutty art](http://youkaiyume.tumblr.com/post/166188606658/this-was-a-smut-prompt-for-smuttyartfictrade).

They’ve been teasing each other all afternoon. 

It had started with looks: her gaze catching his as she bent low into the tangle of an engine, holding just long enough to see him flush before going on with her work. It had only escalated from there, as the garage emptied out in the limpid heat of late afternoon: her fingers trailing under his shirt along the waistband of his pants, his hot breath on her neck as he leaned in closer than was strictly necessary to lend a hand on a stubborn bolt, a silent guerrilla war of blistering touches in which both of them were too stubborn to admit defeat.

She doesn’t need help climbing down from the top of the rig after rebalancing the harpoon launcher, but he’s there anyway, and “help” turns out to be an entirely superfluous hand on her ass and a sly press of his fingers between her legs. The sudden pulse of want is damn near enough to make her miss the handhold she was reaching for. When she hops down the rest of the way he’s standing there with a maddeningly innocent look on his face.

The garage is silent, deserted except for them. She slams him against the door of the rig.

He’s trying, and failing, to hide the tiny smile that keeps creeping onto his lips, and it’s _infuriating,_ the fucking _nerve_ of him with his soft mouth and deft hands and just the right amount of stubble— She can feel him hard in his pants and gods damn it, she wants to fuck him more than she wants to win whatever stupid improvised game they’ve been playing—

“Get in the rig,” she growls, and he _grins,_ how fucking dare he—

They scramble up into the back seat while they’re already half devouring each other; his tongue in her mouth while she shoves impatiently at his jacket. She knows his pants by feel now, her flesh fingers working buckles and laces as fast she can assemble a rifle in the dark, then with a sudden heft she’s sprawled back on the seat, squirming and twisting to help him tug her sweat-damp leathers down to her knees, her cunt already filthy slick and aching with want—

He shoves her down suddenly, pressing her into the seat with an urgency that doesn’t feel like lust. His weight is heavy and still on her back, a hand curled loosely over her mouth. Before she can decide whether to growl or bite him or suck on his fingers, she hears the approaching footsteps.

“Ssh,” he breathes very softly in her ear.

Two pairs of footsteps; she can make it out clearly now—at least one in boots but different than the swaggering stomp of a War Boy. And voices—women’s voices, one old and one young.

Oh _fuck,_ she thinks, biting her lip against hysterical laughter. It’s Eves, and the voice of a younger woman she thinks she recognizes from among the sanitation team.

Squashed down like this in the high cab of the rig they are hidden from view, but the rig is creaky and Max is heavy, and fuck, _fuck,_ she will never hear the end of it if the bawdy old Vuvalini finds the two of them hiding like a pair of teenagers, bare-assed and sticky in the back seat. The ribbing will be good-natured and enthusiastic but it will outlast the Citadel crumbling into dust.

“Bikes were our way in the wastes, but I still know my way around a V8,” Eves says, and there’s the creak of a hood opening somewhere very close below them.

Good gods, Furiosa thinks, as Eves starts meticulously describing every part of the engine and its function. Now and then the young woman interjects with a quiet, earnest question, reverent and eager for knowledge she would have been forbidden in the old Citadel.

It would be a downright inspiring moment if Furiosa weren’t crushed against the greasy fabric of the seat busy being very, very aware of Max’s cock leaking precome against her ass.

The engine lesson is incredibly thorough.

Above her, she can feel Max shaking with suppressed laughter, or horniness, or both. His hand has moved off her mouth to intertwine with hers where it’s trapped under her left shoulder. They’d ended up on the seat with his legs pinning hers together, and she’s achingly aware of the wetness between her thighs, of the sharp scent of his sweat, his breath on the back of her neck, his cock trapped _right there_ pressed against the curve of her bum.

As if he can read her thoughts, he rocks his hips minutely.

She sucks in a tiny, warning breath and thinks _don’t you fucking dare._

He shifts his position just enough to suck on the top of her ear. Of course he does.

Eves and the sanitation worker are still chattering away below them, but she can’t follow any of what they’re saying. All she can focus on is Max nibbling a silent, maddening trail down her neck. He reaches the curve of her shoulder and bites, a slow scrape of teeth that sends a spiky, twisting shudder through her. She swallows back a whimper. She is going to fucking _kill him_ as soon as she can move.

Eves is explaining sparkplugs. The universe is laughing at her.

Eves and her pupil move around to the closer side of the car and now they really sound like they are standing directly below the rig. She can feel sweat dripping behind her knees and along her back and between her breasts, and her cunt is wet enough she must be leaving a mark on the seat.

Without warning Max licks a long hot stripe up her back from the edge of her shirt to the scarred skin of her brand and she is so surprised she arches up sharply under him.

The rig creaks. Eves’s voice pauses.

Furiosa holds her breath, glaring daggers she has no idea if Max can see. But after a brief pause Eves goes on chattering as if nothing is amiss. After a minute the voices move away, and Furiosa thinks _thank fuck_ for a split second. Then she hears wheels rolling across the stone floor. They’re getting a crawler.

Only the thought of the years of drunken Vuvalini fireside tales she’ll be the subject of keeps manic laughter from bursting out of her.

There’s a moment—now, _right now_ dammit—when the noise of the wheels might cover up the creak of Max climbing off of her, and she braces on the seat and shoves up against him…and he just slides a hand under her hips to cup around her soaked pussy before pressing her back into the seat.

Fuck but she’s going to murder him.

She is absolutely drenched and she can feel his fingers sliding through it as he traces a slow teasing circle around her clit, enough to make her shiver and ache but not enough to make her come. His other arm is still wrapped around her shoulders, and she bites down on his forearm to let him know what she thinks of the situation, gets a retaliatory flick against her clit that makes her legs twitch before he goes back to the slow teasing.

Eves is talking about catalytic converters.

She’s going to shred him. Slowly. She’s going to strap him down and tease him until he begs and then leave him alone to think about the consequences of his actions. She’s going to headbutt him right now and flip him over and ride him until they both explode, and if she breaks his nose in the process well that serves him fucking right—

A deep gong sounds from the top of the center tower, loud enough to be heard throughout the Citadel. The dinner bell.

There’s a rattle of crawler wheels almost immediately, and Eves is saying, “More later. That’ll get you started,” and “Hope they have those little roast potatoes.” And just like that they leave.

They both hold their breath until the footsteps are out of earshot. Then Max smothers a crippling attack of wheezing laughter in the crook of her shoulder. She thinks about headbutting him again.

“If you don’t fuck me _right now_ —” But she breaks off with a gasp because he’s already shifting to slide inside her, immediate and deep and such a shuddering relief she nearly comes right there.

With dinner in progress there is no one to overhear them now, and once he’s inside her he seems to have spent every ounce of patience. She lets loose all the feral moans she usually keeps sealed behind their bedroom door as he fucks her fast and rough and messy from behind, braced against the doorframe to keep from slamming her head against it, and she lets herself scream into his sleeve when he makes her come almost as soon as he touches her clit, and then come again before he's finished.

After they’re both sated she lies half on top of him while he stretches his bad knee, both of them languid and plastered with sweat.

“You’re a very horrible tease,” she mumbles into his shirt.

“Mmnh.”

“You’re gonna pay for that y’know.”

“Hm. Prepared.”

“‘S what you think, Fool,” she slurs. “Jus…you wait. Getcha…when you least expect it…”

He chuckles, his cheek coming to rest on the top of her head. She still hasn’t completely ruled out headbutting him. But maybe she’ll sleep a little first…

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr!](http://fuckyeahisawthat.tumblr.com)


End file.
